This is me, exercising by walking around the hospital ward with the other COVID-isolated inmates. No not really, but I shall be released tomorrow--not to go home, because I will be staying with my dad, given that our family is in COVID isolation with one daughter having caught COVID for the second time.
Art of the Day: Van Gogh, Prisoners Exercising (after Doré), February 1890. Oil on canvas, 80 x 64 cm. Pushkin Museum, Moscow.
All appears to be well, no sign of infection and doctors happy. I'll be preaching at church this Sunday, God willing, on 1 Thessalonians 2. But unlikely to see the rest of the family in person until Tuesday next week.
The next chemo cycle is 2-3 weeks away, yet to be determined and somewhat dependent on how well I recover from the current surgery. Like the men in Van Gogh's prison yard, just keep moving.
Meanwhile, sing with me and Bob. "I shall be released"
or listen to one of my favourite versions, Bob Dylan, The Band, and friends.
Not too much to report. Jabs and pills. Waiting on results, maybe I'll go home tomorrow. In the meantime, whether you are great or small, Jesus loves you!
I work at CMS (Church Missionary Society) as an editor, and the International Director there is Peter Rodgers. I've been so thankful that during this time of illness I've just been able to keep on working from home or even from hospital, as the case may be. CMS as employers have been incredibly fair and supportive in finding ways for this to continue.
I mention this as background to something completely different, which is how Jesus responded to news of his friend Lazarus' imminent death. Here is just a little of the story, from John 11, that sets up the scene:
After saying these things, he said to them, “Our friend Lazarus has fallen asleep, but I go to awaken him.” The disciples said to him, “Lord, if he has fallen asleep, he will recover.” Now Jesus had spoken of his death, but they thought that he meant taking rest in sleep. Then Jesus told them plainly, “Lazarus has died, and for your sake I am glad that I was not there, so that you may believe. But let us go to him.”
It's well worth reading the whole chapter, in which Jesus is implicitly rebuked for his slowness in coming to his friend's side. Surely he could have prevented the experience of death that he now witnesses firsthand? But he hasn't come in time (or so it seems), therefore he weeps.
The afore-mentioned Peter Rodgers wrote a brief piece about how Jesus responds to his friend Lazarus' death. It is a response that by clear implication shows us something of how we, too, can face the reality of the deaths of those around, or even our own.
In his short article Peter asks this key question: Why did Jesus weep?
Weeping is
normal at the death of a loved one. In some cultures, weeping is done almost in
private, and expressions of grief are muted. In other cultures, a public
display of weeping is important, even to the extent of employing professional
mourners.
In John 11, when people hear the unexpected news of Lazarus’ death there are
natural expressions of grief.
“When Jesus saw her (Mary)
weeping, and the Jews who
had come along with her also weeping, he was deeply moved in spirit and
troubled.“Where have you laid him?” he
asked. “Come and see, Lord,” they replied.Jesus wept.
The expressions of grief from Mary and Martha and the others with them are
expected.
But why does Jesus weep?
Jesus already knew that Lazarus had died and what he would do for the sake of
God’s glory (verses 4,14,15). So, if Jesus knew he would raise Lazarus
from the tomb, why does he weep?
There are some lessons we can learn.
Jesus is not indifferent to suffering. He loved Lazarus (verse 5). We see here
the great heart of Jesus: the Son of God, God himself—weeping, sobbing—at
the death of his friend, and the grief it has caused his other friends. This is
the normal and right response to death – even for Christians. For whilst we do
not grieve like the rest of the world, we still grieve. Here we see that
weeping is a right response to death. And the Son of God has so entirely
entered into humanity that this includes entering the depths of sorrow. Jesus
wept.
But Jesus does not weep out of despair as we might. In verses 25-26 he has
already declared these magnificent words.
“I am the
resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even
though they die; and whoever lives by believing in me will never
die.”
Unlike us, Jesus is not powerless. Jesus proves the truth of these words by
calling Lazarus out of the tomb!
It may seem odd to us that someone who has the power to raise people from the
dead should weep. Odd that Jesus can be all powerful and yet burst into tears.
This is the mystery of the person of Jesus – who is man and God. We don’t need
to spiritualise away his tears and anger. We need to accept he is God, but
still fully a man. He trembles in anger, weeps in sorrow and then raises the
dead with a shout.
Eight chapters later the Jews will be shouting for Jesus’ death.
Of course, Lazarus grew old and died again. His resurrection, as amazing as it
was, is just a shadow, a glimpse of what happened just over a week later when
Jesus was crucified and his dead and mutilated body laid in a tomb. And three
days later he rose from the dead, once forever, never to die again. Jesus is
literally “the
resurrection and the life”. These were not empty words spoken just
to comfort people in their grief. These are life giving words spoken by the
only person in all history to have defeated death and now live forever.
At a basic level, Jesus' tears should encourage us to weep with those who weep.
We should allow grieving people to feel right anger at death and suffering. In
fact, death and suffering should make us indignant wherever we see it. We need
to become better carers of those who suffer. Christians who know that we have a
God who has wept at death should never be indifferent to death.
But more so, although in the face of death we are powerless, we can point
grieving people to Jesus, who not only grieves with them, but is himself the
resurrection and the life.
The Christian response to death and dying is not stoic acceptance. Nor is it a triumphalistic lack of awareness, nor even a resigned despair. It is exactly and precisely the response Jesus gave: to weep over its horror, and to trust to the power of God to completely reverse and upend and defeat its power over us.
As I'm writing this blog post on a Sunday, how about you join me in singing this hymn? Or scroll down to the video and let the Welsh do it for you.
1. Guide me, O Thou great Jehovah, Pilgrim through this barren land. I am weak, but Thou art mighty; Hold me with Thy powerful hand. Bread of heaven, Feed me now and evermore; Bread of heaven, Feed me now and evermore.
2. Open now the crystal fountain, Whence the healing waters flow; Let the fire and cloudy pillar Lead me all my journey through. Strong Deliverer, Be Thou still my Strength and Shield. Strong Deliverer, Be Thou still my Strength and Shield.
3. When I tread the verge of Jordan, Bid my anxious fears subside; Death of death, and hell's destruction, Land me safe on Canaan's side. Songs of praises, I will ever give to Thee; Songs of praises, I will ever give to Thee.
Yes, visiting here in hospital has been highly restricted but possible. Only one visitor per day. And of course phone calls.
I’m not entirely unhappy about the visitor restrictions. The medical people here are terrific but the environment itself is incredibly noisy.
That doesn’t bother me, as sleeping anywhere, anytime is one gift that I feel God has given me to offer the church—or indeed any context that I find myself placed in.
But to add troops of visitors into the mix? Heavens to Betsy! My own visitors I could handle. When everyone in the public ward gets visitors, that is a lot of people. And so many people here seem to appreciate shouting and being shouted at, including amongst the hospital staff. I know this because in the absence of many visitors, people ring their relatives in hospital and shout at them. Not angry shouting. Just shouting. This I am not understanding. It does however seem to bring some measure of comfort and cheer to those being shouted at.
Perhaps in these COVID restricted times it could be a ministry some churches could become involved in: offering to ring up sick people in hospital and shouting at them.
“I was hungry and you fed me. Naked and you clothed me. In hospital and you rang me up and shouted at me.”
Think about it. In these COVID times, this idea has legs.
[This is from my 15 February Facebook post, transferred here and updated for sake of completeness]
15 February. Slightly rushed health update. Intense pain in the middle of last night related to constipation and internal plumbing. Ambulance trip to RNS Public to find answers. Pain well controlled and about to see surgical team to discuss options in light of CT Scan results. To me, and this is pure speculation, the options are not likely to concern whether or not I get ice cream for dessert tonight, but more about whether some kind of surgery is about to happen.
Who knows? Well, God does and that is good enough for me. If you are the sort of person who prays, you know what to do!
Thanks for those who comment and pray in various ways. Please know that I love reading what you have to say but responses are likely to be hit and miss. Generally I will put the latest onto my blog but just occasionally, like today, FB is probably the best way to go.
Praise God from whom all blessings flow.
Update #1 on basis of CT scans, emergency surgery would normally follow at this point. Couple more consultations required first.
Update #2. Bowel cancer has perforated. Emergency surgery for perforated bowel about to happen.
Update #3 surgery has happened. I don’t know what I was expecting but I feel surprisingly well. Colostomy, catheter, button for self-regulated pain relief, beautiful family and many friends, and above all, a hot line to the one who made all things in Christ, in whom all things hold together. God hears and answers prayer.
Update #4 surgical team dropped in just now, 7.30 am on 16 February. They were happy with progress.
Thanks to those praying and sending messages. They mean a great deal. And I’ve been reminded of the Heidelberg catechism of 1563. Check out question 1 below:
Q. What is your only comfort
in life and in death?
A. That I am not my own,1
but belong—
body and soul,
in life and in death—2
to my faithful Saviour, Jesus Christ.3
He has fully paid for all my sins with his precious blood,4
and has set me free from the tyranny of the devil.5
He also watches over me in such a way6
that not a hair can fall from my head
without the will of my Father in heaven;7
in fact, all things must work together for my salvation.8
Because I belong to him,
Christ, by his Holy Spirit,
assures me of eternal life9
and makes me wholeheartedly willing and ready
from now on to live for him.10
[The Heidelberg Catechism, 1563. Q and A 1]
1 1 Cor. 6:19-20
2 Rom. 14:7-9
3 1 Cor. 3:23; Titus 2:14
4 1 Pet. 1:18-19; 1 John 1:7-9; 2:2
5 John 8:34-36; Heb. 2:14-15; 1 John 3:1-11
6 John 6:39-40; 10:27-30; 2 Thess. 3:3; 1 Pet. 1:5
Here is the red sheep, here is the blue sheep. Here is the bath sheep, and here is the bed sheep. But where is the green sheep?
Oh wait. Different book, different story. I meant to talk about pills not sheep.
The first cycle of chemotherapy hit pretty hard, as friends in the know predicted. Lots of sleeping, some nausea, a return to hospital after a temperature spike, and a brain that functioned in grooves or not very well. If I could hunt down a thought I could follow it through but sometimes lacked the energy to do a task I'd set for myself that day, then ran out of puff and did a lot more sleeping.
The visit to hospital was good (I'm out now) and took pressure off the family, and I want to find ways to keep helping them as they help me. Sometimes that will mean occasional visits to stay at my dad, sometimes other things. Fiona has been wonderful and continues to be so.
What I'm currently finding entertaining and informative is the number of pills that I've been loaded up with for the treatment of various side-effects (tiredness, nausea, constipation, not-constipation, possible infection, inflammation, pain) on top of the full range of possible chemotherapy options and injections of unnamed substances.
It is very confusing, especially initially, because some of the treatments and subsequent treatments for side-effects have opposite effects and, in any case, require you to have at least a sense of what's going on.
Example, the steroids (to damp down inflammation) also can produce wakefulness and fast-paced thoughts, which can occasionally overcome the tiredness induced by chemotherapy. That's fine, and sometimes useful if you've been sleeping all day but suddenly get a burst of brain activity that allows you to work away for a few hours at night. The ideas flow freely, even manically and if it is for work-related writing that is good at the stage where you're drafting ideas. Then some sleep and as the steroid effect wears off, the brain slows down to a level where it is able to edit the incomprehensible brilliance you've produced into a form that a reasonable third party could begin to understand.
If you can understand that cancelling or opposing set of pill-effects as it relates to the thought processes, then you can use your imagination to extend the metaphor to other and lower bodily functions. The red pill is going to help you with side-effect X brought on by the painkillers. But before you had side effect X, you were suffering from symptom Y, which is actually the opposite of side effect X, so that's good right? Well sort of, except you weren't expecting side effect X, so you did what was advised and took the blue pill to help with symptom Y.
So you're sitting there, having been discharged from hospital, with the red pill and the blue pill. Each is potentially useful, even necessary. But they cancel each other out and you're not quite sure which one to take.
My solution just at the moment is to dump all the pills in one bag, and pick the one that I personally prefer at any given point, allowing for actual instructions and warnings about not taking too much. A lot of the time the actual instructions say something like 'take as needed and not if not'. So even though my approach sounds random, it fits within the best current medical advice available to me. Maybe it's a bit like with those night-and-day cold and flu tablets, where I figure that if you've got a very runny (non-COVID) nose, you just take one of each and the hype-up effects of one will be cancelled by the hype-down effects of the other.
This has turned into quite a long post, relative to the others. Looks like the brain-hyping steroid I took a few hours ago is doing its thing. Hyping leads to typing. Please respond in the comments therefore if you think this post needs a bit of subdued editing or at least the addition of subheadings. I find that if enough people comment, the advice cancels itself out and just like the pills, I can pick and choose out of what's there. So have at it!
"Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on thee: because he trusteth in thee." (Isaiah 26:3, KJV)
Today, more antibiotics and more blood tests. If everything's clear, then back home from hospital.
Meanwhile here's Orlando Gibbon's version of Psalm 47, O clap your hands (with no clapping. As great as the British choral tradition is, they weren't going to go that far).
O clap your hands together, all ye people, O sing unto God with a voice
of melody.
For the Lord is high, and to be feared, he is the great King of all the earth.
He shall subdue the people under us, and the nations under our feet.
He shall choose out an heritage for us, ev'n the worship of Jacob, whom
he loved.
God is gone up with a merry noise, and the Lord with the sound of the trumpet.
O sing praises, sing praises unto our God, O sing praises, sing praises unto
the Lord our King.
For God is the King of all the earth, sing ye praises with understanding.
God reigneth over the heathen, God sitteth upon his holy seat.
For God, which is highly exalted, doth defend the earth, as it were with
a shield.
Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost,
As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end.
Amen
Words from Psalm 47
Update: I’m home, with another little bag of pills. Today’s featured drug is Endone. I like this one!
A brain foggy day in which I had every intention of getting some work projects done, but haven’t found the focus.
Then Fiona came home with a new thermometer and my temperature is 38.5 degrees C.
Written doctor’s instructions say anything above 38 is cause for concern, so call the hospital oncologist straight away. Done that, waiting for call back.
I decided to keep the most important medications, as opposed to the ones I use just for fun, in a most important medication place. It’s taken about 24 hours to remember where that location was, but I found it now. Maybe I should stay safe by putting them all together in the same plastic bag and pulling out the one that best fits the side-effect of the day.
Today’s featured drug of the day: Apo-metoclopramide.
Update: off to RNSH emergency. Blood count and likely antibiotics. Admitted for one night.
Wednesday Update: no infection detected, keeping me in hospital one more night plus giving a precautionary five day course of antibiotics.
Various friends who know warned me that the next few days would be fairly full-on, given the amount of chemo they’ve hit me with. They were right! Just a lot of sleep.
When peace like a river, attendeth my way,When sorrows like sea billows roll; Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say, It is well, it is well, with my soul.
Refrain It is well, (it is well), With my soul, (with my soul) It is well, it is well, with my soul.
Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come, Let this blest assurance control, That Christ has regarded my helpless estate, And hath shed His own blood for my soul.
My sin, oh, the bliss of this glorious thought! My sin, not in part but the whole, Is nailed to his cross, and I bear it no more, Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!
[For me, be it Christ, be it Christ hence to live: If Jordan above me shall roll, No pang shall be mine, for in death as in life, Thou wilt whisper Thy peace to my soul.]
[But Lord, 'tis for Thee, for Thy coming we wait, The sky, not the grave, is our goal; Oh, trump of the angel! Oh, voice of the Lord! Blessed hope, blessed rest of my soul.]
And Lord, haste the day when the faith shall be sight, The clouds be rolled back as a scroll; The trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend, Even so, it is well with my soul!
My goodness my blog-fu is rusty. What does everyone think of this new look? Do I look fat in this? Do those planty things in the top right look like Coronavirus to anyone? Is that in poor taste if it does, or is it kind of topical?
Don't hold back, faithful readers. If this design looks sick in any way, I want to be the first to know.
Oh and so as not to depart from the main current theme of this blog, here is a cartoon in which Sylvester accidentally self-medicates himself with some experimental chemotherapy.
Portacath works like a dream. Chemo works like a scheme. By which I mean, it's started going in even as I type and we'll just have to see what happens next.
So far no discernible side-effects, except for an increase in hovering medical personnel. One member of the treatment team came in and gave me a bunch of helpful suggestions and a showbag including a booklet called Chemotherapy with Ramsay Cancer Care. I asked her if she'd read Victor Frankl's Man's Search for Meaning but she hadn't, so I guess we exchanged reading recommendations.
Victor Frankl was a Viennese psychiatrist who survived Auschwitz concentration camp during World War II. He wanted to know why, of those who weren't executed, some otherwise relatively healthy people died whilst a number who you might have assumed were in much worse condition lived. His book is his answer to his queston. Click on that previous link to see the blurb.
It is a bit weird being in a hospital with no visitors and I'm glad it's only until Friday. At least I can chat to the family on the phone any time. Thanks for those who are making contact; I'm usually not answering calls but plenty of time for text-based communication just at the moment. Please know that I read everything even if I'm not able to respond, this blog still seems to be the best way to give up-to-date information for those who want it. Most importantly you may occasionally find jokes.
Speaking of which, my current favourite comedian Norm McDonald (who died of bowel cancer late last year), may well have been a believer in the Lord Jesus. Here are a couple of serious interactions on the subject.
2.45 pm update
Oh! After just half an hour into the third lot of chemo drugs I am getting the warned-of side effects of pins and needles in my fingers. Not painful, but just a hint of what else might be going on. You can actually develop neuropathy over time, so this is one of the many things the doctors are going to need to monitor carefully. It doesn't seem like it would be great for piano playing or typing. But you never know. If Alkan can compose music for one-handed pianists, some clever composer can probably figure out music for those who can't use their fingers. Is that right?
Oncologist SC visited, thought I was doing well but also warned that they were hitting me with the highest level of medication possible because they really want to stop progress quickly, therefore to expect lots more in the way of nausea etc, especially about day five or six after commencement of the cycle.
If the doctor, and not COVID, had had his way, I would have been straight into hospital for the first cycle of chemo last Thursday, including the installation of the fabled portacath. But that would have kept me in hospital and would meant that I'd have missed church.
As it is, the visit to hospital is happening tomorrow (Tuesday), and will mean that I'm in for the first cycle of chemo until Friday.
But that postponement meant that I could also fit in the planned preaching for yesterday. The passage was Psalm 13, and you can catch the reading and the sermon at 22:00 in this video. It's a bit rambly, could have done with a sympathetic editor, sorry about that, but what a great Psalm.
Here's Psalm 13, a Psalm of lament:
Psalm 13
English Standard Version Anglicised
To the choirmaster. A Psalm of David.
13 1 How long, O Lord? Will you forget me for ever? How long will you hide your face from me? 2 2 How long must I take counsel in my soul and have sorrow in my heart all the day? How long shall my enemy be exalted over me? 3 3 Consider and answer me, O Lord my God; light up my eyes, lest I sleep the sleep of death, 4 4 lest my enemy say, “I have prevailed over him”, lest my foes rejoice because I am shaken. 5 5 But I have trusted in your steadfast love; my heart shall rejoice in your salvation. 6 6 I will sing to the Lord, because he has dealt bountifully with me.
I'm a bit blog-rusty after basically only visiting this blog a few times over the last several years, so I only just figured out how to fix the widget at the top of the right column. There I was falsely promising a free first chapter of a book on Encouragement that I wrote many moons ago, but the link was long dead.
(You can still pick up a copy of that book here if you want. The basic message is still one I believe and you may find it a subject that is of help. There's also a course that goes with it that some churches have used over the years.)
But that's not what this post is about. I've now changed the widget to link to a different booklet.
"I invite you to look with me at the subject of sickness. The subject is one which we ought to look in the face frequently. We cannot avoid it. We don’t need to have a prophet’s eye to see sickness coming to each of us in turn one day. “In the midst of life we are in death.” Let us pause and think about sickness as Christians. Thinking about it will not hasten its coming, and by God’s blessing may even teach us wisdom."
—From J C Ryle. Sickness (Kindle Locations 38-41). Matthias Media.
This is a really good, brief and pastorally minded treatment of the subject of sickness and its relationship to death and the grace and providence of God. Won't take you long to read, and there is much of value in it to contemplate when you are sick.
JC Ryle was a 19th century bishop of Liverpool in England, yet his language is clear and blunt. Charles Dickens it ain't, he was writing for communication and not literary entertainment. Hey, Charles Dickens is great but you can watch screen versions of that on a streaming service these days. JC Ryle, not so much, you still have to read the words.
You can pick up a slightly language-updated version from the wonderful people at Matthias Media, here (in e-format as well). It's useful to have a physical copy or three because you can have them available as a resource at your church, or to give to friends who might benefit from it. Not me thanks, I've already read it several times. It's really good and gives you a lot to think about.
If however you want to be a cheapskate like me and read it for free, in slightly olde-worldier language but still really good and direct, then check it out here. In that 19th century version it's called Some Thoughts on Affliction. If you understand that title then you'll have no trouble at all understanding the rest of Ryle's text.
Oh and if that all sounds worth chasing up and reading, then while we're on the subject of straight-talking 19th century Bible preachers check out Charles Spurgeon's article on Depression, or as he titled it, The Minister's Fainting Fits (also free). He spent much of his life in the throes of depression and knew what he was talking about.
Yesterday Fiona and I got our #3 COVID shot; I wanted to get mine out of the way before chemo started and now that's done. Need a PCR test tomorrow afternoon as well.
Let me tell you though about our fabulous pharmacist Kev, a friend from Christ Church Gladesville years ago. He became a Christian there and in his spare time learnt Hebrew, just because he wanted to read the Old Testament a bit better. He knows of my cancer diagnosis and wanted to hear the latest. Being a typically efficient pharmacist he was able to do that whilst simultaneously giving both Fi and me a COVID booster each (Moderna), explaining that research showed that most negative vaccine effects had occurred amongst young men who had had their shots too close together, reassuring us about side-effects and giving us his family news as well.
The unexpected and blessed element was that after our COVID shots he offered to pray for us, and he did pray for us, asking for God's care and healing and entrusting us into the hands of our heavenly Father. He is a busy man, running a pharmacy and—as are so many health professionals—over-run by COVID matters, yet he took the time to do this.
We have many lovely Christian medical friends and we have seen some professionally over many years. Prayer has never been a part of the expected service, but on this occasion we accepted with gratitude and thankfulness this encouragement from a brother in Christ. And really, if Jesus is our great healer—as Isaiah 53:5 teaches us—then what could be more fitting than such a humble prayer, acknowledging in the act the limitations of human medicine?
From Handel's Messiah, here is Isaiah 53:5 set to music.
I was wrong. Today’s appointment was, I thought, to get a portacath inserted. Not so; that has to happen and soon but first a bit of jaw-jaw with oncologist SC and a briefing session about what to except during the chemo treatment cycle.
But also, I was right! I’ve had the feeling that the cancer has been developing pretty rapidly—new symptoms like a persistent dry cough, an ache developing in the liver. Old symptoms, mainly fatigue, increasing. Ignorable nausea becoming unignorable nausea (‘oh no! I always have seconds but now I’m going to have to wait a few hours! What, I can only manage one Frosty Fruit for dessert?')
So this morning the doc wanted to book me into a hospital ward at RNSH and get me hooked up to chemo straight away. Couldn’t happen. Ward shut due to COVID in there.
Earliest possible is Tuesday. At least this means I can preach on Sunday. And, although we’ve run out of Frosty Fruits, I rediscovered my stash of mango Weis bars. They were in the freezer all along! I'd been looking everywhere.
Quite tricky finding a place for a COVID booster but got Friday appointments for me and Fi.
Here are a few thoughts jotted down in the process:
Looks like the doc is busy. Been waiting on phone for an hour, listening to a looping music tape with a voice that repeats ‘still queued announcement comfort message’.
I’m sure it’s unintentional but I can’t think of any better substitute message they could have come up with.
Edit: At the sixty minute mark, a voice came on and said ‘no-one is available to take your call. Please leave a message’. 😧
No great loss. Watched tennis and updated Facebook. Thought about the schedule for this evening and tomorrow morning (phone waiting does muck up the work routine a bit. Fiddles and juggles).
Thankfully when the med practice dumped me from the system after an hour, I phoned the chemist next door and took just five minutes to get two appointments. Pharmacists save the day!
This Sunday morning I was interviewed briefly at church about the latest. Starts at about 13:00. There may be a little gap in the video—the bit where I explained that I had to leave home rather suddenly due to daughter Ruby receiving a text notification about a positive COVID test. I went to stay with my dad.
Thankfully Ruby has now had a couple of negative RATs so I have just returned home today. Hooray and praise God!
I did have a planned PET scan on Friday. Nothing to report as yet. They don’t design those above-ground submarine-like structures to radiate comfort and assurance do they? They shoot you full of radioactive dye, your tumours start glowing in the dark and the machine zaps you with positrons, which sounds like it could be positive but I can’t really say. That supplies some images that doctors can use to refine treatment.
I suppose if I wanted to feel a bit more comfy I could have sought out homeopathy.
This would be maybe a good time to give a disclaimer about my medical expertise: ‘I don’t know much about medicine, but I know what I like.’
In any case, our Lord Jesus is the great physician and he will decide how matters unfold.
Met with oncologist (Dr Stephen Clarke) this afternoon. Diagnosis further confirmed, yes it’s still cancer. Through testing for certain genetic markers they have excluded any immunotherapy at this time.
However the chemotherapy is all systems go. Before that certain steps need to happen.:
1. Some more tests to rule out or open up specific treatment options.
2. Insert a porta-catheter, in about a week, to facilitate safe and effective chemotherapy delivery. Information about that is here.
3. Ideally get a third COVID booster before chemo begins, as this should happen when the immune system is strong. Chemo weakens the immune system so best to get this done now.
Because of these steps in the process, plus the Australia Day holiday, actual chemo (which is a day procedure) most likely will start the following week.
The other advice was to keep working (if I want, which I do), keep exercising, and don’t lose weight. That includes no major dietary changes.
The chemo is highly unlikely to remove or cure the cancer. But the idea is to shrink any tumours down to improve the possibility for successful surgery.
Dr Clarke by all accounts is a master of his craft. He is also a nice guy with a genuine concern to know the person as well as the problem. We have a number of people we know in common, including an oncologist on his team.
As a family we are concerned, wanting to get chemo going, and convinced that God is king.
Oh and happy 37th anniversary Fi! After all these years we still love each other.
Managed a little work including some church planning. The ache in my liver is increasing daily and today it was restricting my breathing. I know nothing but my intuition tells me that whatever is happening, it is happening fast.
We shall see. Oncologist tomorrow afternoon, Wednesday, at 2.20.
Just waiting for a call from the oncologist today to work out when I can see him. Got a few cancer specialist friends who speak highly of him.
Not everybody appreciates dark humour at a time like this, so if that's you scroll on. But if you have a taste for the mordant and absurd, here is Norm Macdonald, a Canadian comedian who died of cancer late last year.
And here is my favourite version of Norm's driver's famous moth joke.
Thanks to my wonderful church, St Barnabas East Roseville, I was able to get a Rapid Antigen Test fairly straightforwardly (thanks Alby). Negative result which is good news and confirms yesterday morning’s negative RAT result.
That means I will stay at my dad’s place, separate from my family for the moment (Ruby has COVID), but with greater confidence that I’m not a risk to my dad, and that any other medical treatments will not have COVID-related complications.
So far, so good, in the sense that our great God continues to work to his glory and our good.
But the path has taken a sudden COVID-related turn.
I’m feeling a lot better, especially after taking advantage of some Uber Eats (thank you kind friends) to have the first proper dinner in days, after some necessary fasting.
However during dinner Ruby got a text; the results of a COVID test. She’s tested positive. At time of writing, that was just over an hour ago.
That is complicated in all sorts of ways, especially given my medical appointments and possibly starting chemo in the next few days. Not the best time for me (or anyone really) to need to isolate.
I’ve had two RATs in the last three days, negative both times including this morning. I’ve had virtually no contact with Ruby today and don’t fit the current rules about close contacts. Also no symptoms.
What now?
I said to Fiona and the girls: Girls, I love you. But not enough to hug you, or kiss you, or even stay with you. I am about to be the RAT deserting a sinking ship. But you are in my prayers. Goodbye.
They took this with good grace. Fiona was going to see her sisters tomorrow. Matilda has a modelling gig on Sunday. Lily would like to go to church. So really, complicated for everyone. Ah well.
Anyway I left home straight away and now I’m at my dad’s. His place is big enough that I can, even tonight, have my own room (ventilated and separate) and my own bathroom. We are communicating by phone. As usual he is relaxed about the situation, which I guess you might be if you’ve reached the age of 91 and can still play tennis twice a week.
This is less than ideal for all sorts of reasons, including my need to assume for his well-being that I’m COVID positive until proven otherwise. Praying that I can find a RAT tomorrow.
[Edit 15/01 I found a RAT! Thanks to God as always for the faithful members and leaders of St Barnabas East Roseville]
Nothing is conclusive in this life but if it’s a negative, that will be good enough. Three strikes and COVID is out. Or at least, if I can then stay isolated until my next medical meeting.
Sadly that cuts out church on Sunday. They, like most, only got this news less than a week ago. It would have been great to see people personally and thank them for the many ways they have rallied around during a crisis.
That day will come, just a little later than anticipated. To God be the glory.
I must say those colonoscopy prep solutions they give to clear the system are singularly effective.
Anyway, yes it is confirmed metastatic bowel cancer, and I’ll be seeing oncologist specialist Stephen Clarke of Sydney Uni next week, then probably chemo.
The anaesthetics guys are good too. I just went to sleep and woke up, no grogginess, no fogginess, just ready for my sandwiches. No driving, no signing legal documents for a day, that’s it. Oh, when family members give you life insurance documents to sign, that’s just pre-approval isn’t it? Asking for a friend.
Some lovely church people have been sending food and flowers. Now that I don’t have to fast, I will enjoy both and not just the latter.
Visited colorectal specialist yesterday. Given the words of my GP and looking at some reputable websites, I was expecting to be in surgery in fairly short order. However the plan is colonoscopy and then most likely chemotherapy.
We had a useful discussion about five year survival rates. If you have a look at this article you will see that the second paragraph gives a five year survival rate (for my type of cancer) of just 13.4%.
However my specialist made the following points:
1. Due to improved treatments in recent years, even the recent data will be somewhat out of date.
2. This is a national figure that doesn't take into account any specific demographic or other distinctions. Even within Sydney, if you go to a particular treatment centre in Western Sydney the five year survival rates sit at about 20%. The place I'll most likely be treated at, on the North Shore, is probably closer to 40%. Clearly other factors are at play, most likely demographic rather than relating to quality of treatment.
3. Five year survival rates are a useful but blunt instrument. You may be completely cancer-free after treatment, and then at the five year mark die of a (probably) unrelated cause like a heart attack. You would still be included in the statistics, even though the death couldn't be specifically ascribed to cancer.
It was a good conversation. Clearly 20% or 40% survival rates are significantly better than 13.4%, though still cause for concern.
If you or someone you know has a cancer diagnosis, there is a lot more relevant information to consider than just what can be discovered via Dr Google, as my friend Dave McDonald reminded me.
Speaking of which, find his book about his cancer experience, Hope Beyond Cure, here. The clever title gives the clue as to what it's about. Recommended!
Our great and perfect God is full of surprises for those who trust him!
I learnt on Thursday, in the course of apparently unrelated tests, that I have advanced metastatic bowel cancer. I will see a specialist today and expect that events will now move quite swiftly. It was a little unexpected in that apart from fatigue it has been largely asymptomatic.
I have no fear whatsoever for the future, but complete trust in a loving God who gave his Son that those who know him might have life. I feel sadness for my family and my 91 year old dad, but no sense that this is anything but God’s perfect plan.
I am thankful for friendship and if you pray, that would be appreciated including for the family, and that God’s glory would be revealed.
Thanks to God that he has carried us this far. May he lift us into eternal glory in Him, through the forgiveness of our sins, only through Jesus Christ our Lord.
